Two years ago in Huizhou, I mourned my mother's encoffining;
Last year in Pizhou, I mourned the anniversary of her death.
This year, adrift, where am I now?
In the Yan Mountain prison, when chrysanthemums bloom.
The sorrowful yellow flowers seem just like yesterday,
Two cycles of stars have swiftly passed like arrows.
Seeing off the dead is a great event in human life,
But a son's wealth and honor are of no avail.
Who now tends the grave?
A lonely mound of earth in the miasmal south.
My eldest son, in dire straits, let's speak no more of him;
Below are two sons and two daughters.
One son and one daughter are also in Yan,
Offering prayers and donating money at a Buddhist shrine.
One son and one daughter sacrifice at home,
Ill, they shed their hemp garments and sleep till the sun is high.
Last night, a sweet dream returned me to my homeland,
Suddenly, I saw her face upon the sea.
A rooster's crow, and tears soak my bed,
Transformed into clear blood, drenching my clothes.
What did she intend with her widow's weaving long ago?
She personally soothed me as I slept armed at night.
Since ancient times, complete loyalty precludes complete filial piety,
Faced with such worldly affairs, I can only weep bitterly.
The lady helped found the state, sharing in Qi and Wei's domains,
Honored in life, mourned in death, she is returned to heaven and earth.
Endless are the ruin of state and fall of family,
In all my life, I have no regret save this one matter.
My second son has already made plans for the family's future,
Burying our mother south of the Yangtze, with a boat full of wheat.
I know not when my elder brother's bones will return,
Even a fox dying turns its head towards its home mound.